


Cycles

by Nikashuk



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Blood and Injury, Child Abuse, Depressed TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gaslighting, Head Injury, Hurt TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Hurt/Comfort, I think I'd be okay if I tagged, I'm not kidding when i say C!Dream can catch these hands, Imprisonment, Manipulative Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Minor Violence, Pandora's Vault Prison, Physical Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Sam | Awesamdude, Psychological Trauma, Sad TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Suicidal TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Tommy will live, Torture, Villain Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Violence, Warden Sam | Awesamdude, Wrongful Imprisonment, a little bit, also, don't worry it's not too bad, he doesn't do anything but it's hinted at and referenced, none of it is very graphic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-17 20:14:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29722617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nikashuk/pseuds/Nikashuk
Summary: It was supposed to be the last time he would ever see him.He was stupid to have gone in the first place, he just desperately needed closure he could never hope to get.Now he's stuck in a high security prison with his abuser with no means or hope of escaping for up to a week. He should know better than to hope or expect good things to happen to him at this point, but hadn't he suffered enough already?
Relationships: Clay | Dream & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Sam | Awesamdude & TommyInnit
Comments: 34
Kudos: 405





	1. Confinement

**Author's Note:**

> If Tommyinnit will not stream more torture for his SMP character then I will write it for him instead. Consider it a public disservice.
> 
> Can you really blame me? This has so much angst potential, I couldn't not do it. Again, sorry C!Tommy for making you suffer, you just make it too easy.
> 
> I wanted to write this the second after the stream happened, but alas I had other matters to attend to. I feel like it's a bit messy because I wrote it rather quickly, but I just really wanted to get something out there. I did the best I could in the time frame I had. 
> 
> Anyways, enough talk from me. Please leave a comment if you enjoy reading! You cannot imagine how happy they make me, so if you'd like to say something nice, then don't be afraid to! Without further ado, I hope you enjoy what I've written!

It was supposed to be the last time he would ever see him. He was stupid to have gone in the first place, he just desperately needed closure he could never hope to get.

Now he's stuck in a high security prison with his abuser with no means or hope of escaping for up to a week. He should know better than to hope or expect good things to happen to him at this point, but hadn't he suffered enough already?

Who knows how long it's been, stuck in the dark obsidian high security cell of Pandora's Vault. What a wonderful coincidence that there would be a security issue the second he was about to leave all of this behind him. Tommy should have figured something like that would happen. Good things don't happen to him, after all, and he certainly doesn't get any closure.

What a wonderful coincidence that he'd get stuck with his abuser for up to a week. It could be less, he remembers the waiver now, but he knows damn well he won't be getting out of here until the last possible minute.

Tommy hadn't spoken much after his and Dream's first conversation when he'd initially gotten trapped. A few insults and swears thrown around here and there, sure, but for the most part he'd kept his mouth firmly shut and ignored Dream completely for the majority of their time spent together. A part of his brain that likes to reminisce whispers Dream would've loved for him to shut up in the past, but would surely punish him for ignoring him. He shakes his head and pushes the thought out with a frustrated groan.

It earns a head tilt from the aforementioned man, who turns to face him properly. "What." It doesn't sound like a question, but it's supposed to be one. His answer is resounding silence. "Really? You're still not going to talk to me?" Now that's a proper question. Tommy had already not been looking at him before, but at that he turns his back to him and stares into the lava for a second before he gets too uneasy and turns back to stare at the wall instead. Not that that's a much more comforting sight, but it's not as bad as the lava. "Alright, have it your way then." Dream chuckles.

The silence reigns for a while, neither of them speaking and keeping to themselves before Dream decides he's heard enough of the resounding nothingness. Or, well, the silence aside from the dripping of the crying obsidian, but that barely counts.

“When’d you grow so fond and attached to shutting up? The Tommy I know wouldn’t keep quiet if his life depended on it. I would know.” Dream sneers. "You know, for a guy that shits on attachment so much, you sure do seem an awful lot obsessed with me, you creep." Tommy grumbles, eyes cast with anger. Despite it all, he's proud of himself for having a bit of bite in a situation like this. Had this happened only weeks before, he's sure he would've caved without any resistance. It proves he had been getting better. Key word had, because although he might still be trying to ignore it, the remnants of past conditioning are still fighting but struggling to take effect.

"It's not attachment, Tommy. You're just fun." Dream retorts, shaking his head slightly like Tommy was a child in kindergarten who had given a wrong answer borne out of nothing but blissful ignorance alone. Tommy can't stop himself from saying the words that come out next. "So fun you'd spend days on end abusing me? So fun you'd bother to build a vault miles away and lure me there to kill my best friend? What, scared of competition? Jealous he was taking up all my attention? Is that it?" he accuses. 

"I told you, all heroes need an origin story." Dream shrugs. Tommy sputters, aggrieved. "Was Wilbur not enough? Have I not suffered enough losses already? At your hands, no less?" he accuses, anger sparking in his eyes. Anger tires him out, but he'd much rather be angry than any of the other feelings being in this room with this guy threaten to bring out in him.

"Wilbur did it to himself." Dream remarks. "We both know that's not true. You are just as complicit to his downfall as he was." Tommy snaps. Even if he's still conflicted about Wilbur, he won't stand for this tarnishing. "Whatever you need to tell yourself to feel better, Tommy." Dream jeered.

Tommy really doesn’t have the energy to argue with him any further, already regretting bringing any of it up in the first place. Anger and discontent make way for tiredness all too soon. He heaves another sigh and closes his eyes. He opens them again to stare at the wall across from him and lets his mind wander and think of better times. It’s a bit childish, but it makes him feel better. He feels himself smile softly at the fond memories. 

A potato is thrown in his general direction, snapping him out of his thoughts, thudding and bouncing across the floor. He scowls. When he makes no move to pick it up, Dream speaks. "Eat the potato, Tommy." Now that sounded like a demand. "Fuck off." he responds. "Come on, you need to eat." he coos. There he does it again, always switching up without a warning. It's so frustrating, always having to be mindful of everything you do because some psychotic guy can have a complete change in conduct whenever he sees it fit. 

"Why do you give a shit, you seemed perfectly content starving me before, what's changed?" Tommy accuses. Dream's demeanour changes again, man he sure does have a hobby. His posture slumps dangerously as he leans closer to Tommy. It's intimidating even all the way across the room. 

"Eat the potato or I will shove it down your throat." he drawls dangerously. There they are, his true colors. Tommy gulps, but he won't let it get to him just yet. "I think that'd be a bit counterintuitive, don't you think? Pretty sure doing that would kill me. For some reason I was under the impression you didn't want that to happen. You know, because you'd lose your favourite plaything." he quips, though it doesn't come out nearly as venomously as he would've liked. The annoyed huff Dream lets out fills Tommy’s mind with panic. He knows better than to talk back at Dream, knows the things the follow, but he can’t help himself.

"I know you're going to do something at some point, because really, what would the consequences even be? You're already in prison, you can't be killed, so all that's left is what, you lose your books? No more clock?" Tommy scoffs bitterly. "It wouldn't matter either way. The cat's out of the bag. Everyone already knows you're a bastard, hurting me now wouldn't change anything." he huffed an empty laugh.

Dream pointedly does not say a word. Irritation itches under is skin and at his scars. "You've dragged it out before, but never this long. And this time I can't even run from you! I don't get what you're waiting for!" he snapped. He doesn't want Dream to hurt him, he still barely sleeps because of the nightmares that haunt his dreams, but he can't stand the anticipation any longer. He hates not knowing what the man would do, although his mind is ever so helpful in supplying him with scenarios and visions and can be's.

"I don't want to hurt you, Tommy." Dream responds finally. So we're back to denial and manipulation. Refreshing. Took him long enough. "If you think that I believe that for even a second then you're either way too full of yourself or you're delusional." Tommy spits angrily. "I mean it, I'd never want to hurt you." Dream says. He's too good at twisting his own words and making them into something else entirely, but Tommy won't fall for it this time.

"Oh really? Then what is this, huh?" he exclaims, rolling up the sleeves of his tee so that his bare arms are exposed, now showing the severe scarring there. "Or what about these?" he continues, grabbing the hem of his shirt and pulling it up to his chest to point at various scars. 

"Tommy I'm flattered but I'm not interested. It's really not appropriate." Dream taunts, covering the simplistically drawn eyes on his mask with his hand. Tommy burns a bright red, embarrassed but angry. "Fuck you. Don't try and avoid it or change the subject." he rasped, returning his garment to its usual state of hiding the reminders of his past injuries. "You wanted me to talk, right? You're the one who keeps mentioning exile and how fun it was, have you backed down from that? Or was the only fun had in exile your glee at my suffering?" he accuses. 

"You're so dramatic, Tommy." Dream laughs, though it's not his genuine wheeze. Something dark is hidden beneath it. "Shut the fuck up. You're sick." Tommy snarls, mouth turning down in a grimace. "If you say so, Tommy." Dream shrugs. The fact that he doesn't try to argue is almost as bad as the accusation itself.

Tommy is reminded of the time stood near the portal at the hub, happy chattering about a Christmas tree he'd never get to see. He thinks about how even back then the lava below him had seemed enticing. The fact it had happened so quickly scared him now, but he hadn't batted an eye at it then. He remembers being yanked and shoved away from the edge. Always making decisions for him. Always telling him what to do or what not to do. He wouldn't even let him make that choice.

"You know more than anyone I would've ended it long ago, had it not been for the way things went." Tommy says quietly, breaking the silence once more. "The only reason I kept going was because of Tubbo. If you had killed him that day, I would've done it." he continues. It seems to catch Dream's attention, because he straightens up a little.

"You've had many opportunities to do it, and you didn't do it once, Tommy. You didn't do it then and you won't do it now." he dismisses, but Tommy doesn't miss the way he tenses ever so slightly. He will not dictate his future anymore.

"Maybe I will, maybe I won't. I don't care either way." Tommy shrugs nonchalantly. "You're the one who said they were all better off without me. That they didn't even want me there. What's changed? Didn't you tell me you're the only one that cares about me? Why would it matter then?" he asks. "You'd be missed." Dream states plainly. Tommy barks a laugh at that. This pathetic man will forever contradict himself. "Sure. The same way Wilbur's missed, I'm sure. It would take them a week tops." 

"I'd miss you." Dream says, voice laced with traitorous kindness Tommy knows to be fake by now. "I don't give a shit if you'd miss me, and if you would, then I hope it fucking hurts." Tommy seethes. He rolls his eyes so harshly he nearly worries he won’t be able to roll them back. “Christ, ‘I’d miss you’, he says. You’d miss your fucking plaything is what you’d miss.” he mocks rancorously before continuing.

"Oh yeah, you wouldn't want to hurt me but you'd do it because it was necessary. To teach me a lesson or something.” Tommy circles back, mordacious words said in the past that will forever be ingrained into his brain. “If you want to argue that Tubbo didn't have to exile me, then you can say that if you didn't want to hurt me, you shouldn't have. If the necessary evil isn't valid for him, why should it be for you?" Tommy questions.

“I’m trying to keep everyone together! You’re the sole reason I keep failing at doing that! Tubbo only thought about himself and the people he cares about, not the rest of the people who suffer from your actions!” Dream yells frustratedly.

“Oh yeah, you’re so selfless, taking on the burden of abusing a child. What a shame you enjoyed doing it too!” Tommy yells back.

Dream groans exasperatedly, frustration radiating off of him. “Do you have any idea how fucking frustrating you are? Always yelling and shouting and running around causing havoc and chaos wherever you go?” he continues on.

“As if I’m the only one! Why am I the only one who gets punished for a crime everyone has committed? Burning George’s house was an accident. It was just supposed to be a prank, and I get exiled for it, but when people grief each other’s bases then there are no repercussions. How is that fair? How come I’m the only one people criticize? Am I some sort of scapegoat for everyone’s sins? You had as much play in the first disc war as I did. Sapnap was the catalyst for the pet wars, but somehow when that’s talked about I get blamed for that too! Wilbur starts L’Manberg and I just went along with it before all of it turned serious all of a sudden and of course it gets written off like I’m solely responsible just because I sacrificed the most for it! Are all of you insane and delusional? How can you believe you’re right and justified?” Tommy prattled angrily, breathing harsh and irregular.

Dream doesn’t respond, that’s how Tommy knows he’s got him. He can’t even bring himself to feel triumphant. Instead he feels hollowed out and tired. “Sorry you can’t blame me for getting locked in here, because you fucking deserve it.” he hisses.

"Sorry doesn't cut it, Tommy." Dream parrots what he said that faithful day. Back then it instilled a fear in Tommy unmatched by any of the horrors he had encountered and endured during his lifetime, but now? Anger hotter than the sun burns him up from the inside, and he relishes in the furious heat it supplies him with.

"Shut. The fuck. Up." he growls, twisting his body and moving his gangly limbs out from under him. He's on his hands a knees, which one would think to be pitiful sight, had it not been for how feral he looked whilst doing it. "I told you to not fucking mention exile to me. That includes whatever fucked up shit you said back then." he reiterates, eyes glaring holes into the masked man in front of him. 

"Or what. What will you do, Tommy? Will you fight me? We both know I'd beat you. When have we ever been in a fight where you emerged the victor?" Dream mocks. He sounds amused, like he's just heard a toddler say they're going to paint the moon pink. It only adds fuel to the fire burning behind Tommy's stormy eyes. 

"I don't give a shit if I'd beat you. Getting one punch in would be enough for me. Just the knowledge I am able to give you just a tiny fraction of the hurt you've caused and inflicted upon me." Tommy growls, having stood up during his small speech to tower over the prisoner seated on the floor. 

Dream follows suit, slowly standing up so they're eye to eye. "Have at it." he says, opening his arms wide in invitation. Tommy can hear the grin in his voice, and something clicks. He wants him to hit him. Wants an excuse to hit him back. A reason for his defence, that he had hit him first, that it was only self-defence. The worst thing is, it's so alluring. Tommy does want to hit him. Hurt him just like he had done, but he's done playing right into this bastard's hands and doing exactly what he wants. 

Besides, even the fiery rage bubbling beneath his skin is not enough to strip away his fatigue. He has barely slept in his involuntary stay, afraid of what could happen to him were he not awake to fight it. Then there was the emotional drainage of it all. Of being in a tiny room surrounded by every single thing that could be a possible trigger for his traumas. 

The lava bubbling behind him, it's radiance and warmth beckoning him ever closer. The obsidian, the walls that keep him hostage, a mocking image of past walls meant to allegedly keep him safe, and then the walls that threatened to cage him. The fact he can't get out. That he's stuck in there with nowhere to go. 

And lastly but not least, the elephant in the room, his abuser stood mere feet away from him. The man who has posed a threat to his wellbeing for what feels like decades now, wearing him down until nothing left of him was a husk and a shell of who he used to be. The man who beat him into submission. Who convinced him he was useless and terrible and that no one cared for him, except for he himself, of course. For who could love such an impotent child? Surely not his best friend, who he forced to make an impossible choice no one so young should ever have to make. Surely not anyone else who had ever shown him compassion before. 

Because who else visited him? Who else showed up to his party when all the invites had been sent out? Even the ghost of his brother had left him, was that not proof enough? Who else visited him because he actively sabotaged their ways of getting to him. Who intercepted the invitations to a certain beach party so that no one would show up? Who sent the forgetful and impressionable ghost out into the wilderness to get rid of him?

"Yeah, you'd like that, wouldn't you." Tommy satirizes, scowling and moving to walk back to his corner of the cell, only to be stopped by a hand harshly grabbing his wrist. "What, are you scared?" Dream taunts, laugh bubbling in his throat. Panic shoots through him, but it's overshadowed by rage. "Let. Go." Tommy demands. "Or you'll what." He can hear the grin in his voice. It really is all a game to him, isn't it. "Let go of me." Tommy reiterates his demand. Dream relinquishes his hold and holds his hands up in mock surrender. "As you wish." he says. Tommy takes a few tentative steps backwards, never once taking his eyes off of his assailant. 

He knows he should take the blessing of compliance and leave the bastard be, but he once again finds himself speaking up. “How do you not feel any remorse? Don’t you feel guilty or disgusting for being such a monster? Don’t you at least regret driving your friends away?” Tommy questions, sounding desperate more than anything.

“You did that. If it hadn’t been for you that never would’ve happened.” Dream snaps suddenly, pushing himself off of the wall he had been leaning against. “If you never showed up then we wouldn’t have fell out.”

“If it took you torturing me for them to see you for what you really are, then I’m glad at least something good came of this hell. None of them deserved your shit and shouldn’t have had to put up with you.” Tommy says solemnly.

Dream shoot across the room with the speed of light, grabbing Tommy’s collar and twisting it in his fist. “Shut up.” he snarls. Tommy glares at him with an intensity that a sixteen year old should not possess. There’s fear behind the glare, clear as day, but it’s overshadowed by something else, something darker that Dream cannot recognize. “Whatever sliver of humanity you had left died when you lost them, didn’t it?” Tommy hypothesized. Dream takes it a bit personal, as he surrenders his hold on Tommy’s shirt to instead cart a hand through his matted golden locks. Tommy flinches, but before he can pull away Dream grips his hair roughly and yanks him closer. Whatever was in his expression before is gone, replaced with pure fear.

“You’re a pathetic, problem-causing, useless, annoying, insufferable, loud- and foulmouthed, unlovable, good for nothing child.” he drawled. Tommy opens his mouth to start apologizing, before catching himself and snapping his mouth shut, then desperately attempts to pry Dream's hands away. Dream all but growls at him in return, tightening his grip on his hair. Tommy whimpers and lets out an involuntary noise of discomfort and pain, hissing and drawing in a sharp breath. The display only helps to enrage Dream further, repugnance filling him. He bangs Tommy’s head against the hard and rough-edged obsidian wall.

Tommy’s vision fills with black spots and the back of his head that hit the wall feels slightly wet. He can feel something trickle down his neck. When he reaches back his fingers come back red. The hold on his hair releases and he falls to his knees unceremoniously, steading himself with his hands on the floor to keep himself from toppling over. He feels lightheaded, his head is spinning and he’s unable to regain his bearings.

“Oh, you’re bleeding.” Dream crows, circling him slowly before crouching down in front of him. He cups his cheek with feigned gentleness that doesn’t suit such a monster of a man. Tommy wants to get away, but his head won’t stop spinning and a strong fatigue is beginning to set in. “Here, let me help.” he says softly, like he cares if he hurt him. Before Tommy can register it, the hand is back to yanking him forward by his hair. He scrambles to move along with it messily due to his inability to see properly with the black spots still dancing across his vision. 

They stop at the edge of the small basin of water imbedded in the floor. The hand slips to the bottom of his head and back of his neck. Tommy recognizes what’s happening just in time, taking in a big gulp of air before his head is dunked underwater. He has half the mind to hold his breath and not to scream so as to not lose any air. Memories of waking up drowning sting painfully along with the pressure on his lungs and diaphragm.

After what feels like hours, he’s pulled back out of the water. He falls onto his back and coughs violently. Sputtering, he turns onto his side, keeping himself up by his lower arms. He hacks up a lung and gasps vigorously. He loses his remaining strength and slumps over, laying face down on his stomach on the cold obsidian floor, wet and shivering.

Dream looks down on him with scorn, lips tugged down in a scowl. He must give credit where credit is due, the kid never fails to get a rise out of him. “Stay down.” he warns. “Fuck you.” Tommy wheezes. Dream delivers a kick to his side. Tommy cringes and curls into himself, grasping his assailed side in an attempt to soothe the pain.

Tommy wants to shout and swear at him. He wants to kick and swing, but the manhandling drained whatever energy he had left. He lies on the floor, not making a move to get up. Dream seems content, sitting back down on the floor and leaning his head against the wall. “I didn’t know you had such bad memory, but I’m glad to reteach my lessons. I hope you learn from them this time.” he lilts.

Tommy rolls over, pushing himself up with immense effort. He glares daggers at Dream for a bit before moving back to his previous spot and slumping against the wall. Dream chuckles from the other side of the room, but Tommy tunes it out. He's exhausted, the interactions enough to tire him out completely. His eyes slip shut, then promptly shoot open again. No, he can't sleep, because if he's asleep then who's to say what Dream would do to him.

He feels like crying. Like sobbing until he runs out of tears and his throat turns dry. He would be crying, had he not been so goddamn tired. Instead, he hopes and prays he’ll get out soon. Any and all improvements made in the past weeks were set back to square one, but he’ll deal with it. He’ll deal with it the same way he’d dealt with every other awful and shitty thing that has ever happened to him. When he gets out, which will be soon, he will deal with it. For now he’ll go back to ignoring Dream and not speaking. Maybe then he won’t invoke his wrath again.

He fights the somnolence every step of the way, but eventually succumbs to the much needed sleep his body begs him for. The sleep is not pleasant by any means, too many nightmares for it to be anything but incredibly uncomfortable, but at least it’s rest. In between haunting images, his mind is nice enough to let him dream of better days. Hopefully he could get those back some day.

Life is a cycle, forever repeating. A wheel that keeps on spinning until the end of time, and he can never hope to break it. 


	2. Parole

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I understand if you don’t want to, but can I hug you? It’s a bit selfish.” he laughs nervously. A hug. The concept feels alien to him at this point. Physical comfort. Reassurance. Companionship. He longs for it so desperately, so he nods. Sam engulfs him with strong arms, keeping him secure in his hold.
> 
> It takes everything in his power not to break down and start crying right then and there. He fails spectacularly. Tears spill down his cheeks before he can stop them. Whimpers and hiccups escape his mouth and spill from his lips. Sam hugs him closer, carting a hand through the hairs at the base of his neck. The gesture is calming, soothing, even.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! I got positive attention and caved immediately. I had a bit of a follow up to this fic written and I speed-ran the rest because I hoped if I got it done I could focus on my actual important work such as the many papers and assignments I have to make if I ever want to graduate. I felt like I should give poor Tommy a bit of comfort. So here are your Awesamdude scraps folks! God knows you need them, so do I. 
> 
> Quick heads up: I try to keep interpretations for the characters appearances open for the most part. I like nonhuman Dream as much as the next guy, I just write him "human" with a mask because it’s easier. I adore all variations of Sam, whether that be hybrid, anthropomorphic or even regular human too! The wiki's word (no matter how hard the editors work), or the cc’s for that matter, is not gospel, so feel free to imagine the characters any way you'd like. I try not to describe them too much. I do however respect Sam's wish to be very tall in canon, so 7'4 it shall be. Demon BBH is a vouch though, because it's cool. I nearly did a spit-take after finding out how tall he's supposed to be.
> 
> I wanted to get this out before the next time Tommy streamed on the SMP so as to not cause confusion if that makes sense. I didn’t want people to come to this expecting it to be some sort of retelling. Truth be told I don’t think my brain works properly. 
> 
> Enough rambling from me. Enjoy reading!  
> Please leave a comment please leave a comment plea-
> 
> POST STREAM EDIT:  
> HOW WE FEELING FOLKS I'M IN DENIAL. Tommy is not dead, or at least not for long. No I'm not shaking. I did not almost cry when Ranboo placed down flowers outside of his dirt shack. BUT WHO WOULD'VE THOUGHT I WAS THE ONE WITH THE HAPPY ENDING HUH OH GOD. OH GOD OH FUCK. OH SHIT.

Tommy is sitting on the cold metal of the netherite in an attempt to battle the heat from the lava. He’s too close to it for his liking, but the closer he is to the curtain of molten rock, the further away he is from the man on the other side of the cell. He had not been keeping track of the days, the lack of clock making it a tad hard to, so he had long since abandoned the idea of trying to guess how much time had passed. Because of this, he had no way of anticipating the floor underneath him would rise without a warning. The mechanism working and clicking into place loudly. Tommy flails and falls off of the barrier, landing on the hard obsidian floor with a yelp and a grunt. He’d expected a chuckle from his cellmate at the very least, but instead the man straightens up and stands and walks over to him.

Tommy scrambles to stand and retreat, walking away from Dream who slowly inches closer. Dream however, doesn’t turn to face him, simply standing a few feet away, staring into the lava. “You’ll visit again.” It’s a command, one that Tommy has to follow if he would like to keep his head secured on his shoulders, but one he does not intend to follow if he can help it. “I won’t.” Tommy defies, though his hands twitch anxiously. “You will.” Dream reprimands. Tommy is growing tired of being spoken for. He shakes despite that. “In your Dreams, bitch.” he spits and scowls. Dream growls in return, his hands balled into fists, like he’s trying to hold himself back.

Suddenly, the lava subsides, and he can see the other side of the hallway. Standing there augustly, was a familiar face, imposing and tranquil. Tommy’s heart nearly swells at the sight. “Step away from the visitor, back against the far end wall of the cell.” Sam bellows, shouting across the space but somehow keeping his voice leveled and steady. Tommy admires that which he can never do.

Dream takes a step closer, invading his personal space as he so loves to do. “Remember your lessons.” he promulgates, voice gruff and low, insinuating danger. A threat. The hairs on Tommy’s neck stand up and his blood runs cold. A mantra of _‘It’s alright, you’re getting out, you’re not going back, he’s not getting out, he can’t hurt you anymore’_ repeats in his head like a broken record, not like the ones he loves so much. He gulps besides himself, and knows Dream heard it by how he sighs next, as if some of the irritation drained from him because of the knowledge his effort had paid off.

Finally, Dream walks backwards until his back meets the wall, just like he’d been instructed. When Tommy focuses back on Sam, he can see there’s someone else with him. The light of the lava makes it hard for him to see the other room properly. It’s dark enough on its own, without the light impairing his vision. After squinting and holding a hand over his eyes like a makeshift cap, he finally recognizes the person on the other side.

Badboyhalo stands at Sam’s side, clad in armor and holding and keeping his hand firmly on the handle of his infamous sword. Tommy panics for the umpteenth time this week, pretty sure that Bad disliked him. Recalling their squabble about The Crimson and their chase shortly after. Safe to say, the sight of him did not help to ease Tommy’s worries. He looked… normal though. Well, as normal as a 9’6 demon can be. When he had seen him last he’d been more monochrome, usual red replaced with white, but his attire seemed to be back to normal. It still didn’t help much.

He can see the two of them discussing something, but he can’t hear it over the sound of flowing and bubbling lava. After their talk is over, Sam steps onto the bridge and stands there as it moves. When he reaches the other side, he readjusts his grip on his trident. The netherite barrier shoots back down into the floor and he steps into the cell. “Let’s get going.” he says to Tommy, who looks up at him sheepishly. Warden Sam is still scary, his superior height doesn’t help to make him look less intimidating either.

Sam holds his trident with both hands, effectively creating a barrier between the two of them and the prisoner at the other side of the room. Tommy slowly arches around Sam to stand on the platform. He glances to look back at Dream for one last time, who just stands there with his arms crossed contently. “Goodbye, Tommy. I’ll be seeing you.” he lilts. Before Tommy can muster up a reply he’s too tired to voice anyway, Sam speaks for him. “Not if I can help it you won’t.” he interjects. It makes Tommy feel a bit warmer, this time not just from the lava close by. Dream keeps his mouth firmly shut. It doesn’t make him any less terrifying.

Before something else could be said, Sam turns and signals for Bad to move the platform again. The netherite barrier comes back up and the bridge starts moving. It takes every single ounce of Tommy’s strength not to wobble and tumble off of the platform and into the lava below. When they’re across Bad flips a lever and the scolding hot substance starts to flow back down. Tommy actively does not look back at it. He’d seen plenty of it during his stay already. Sam leads him through the hallway, Bad having stayed behind to keep watch.

The rest of the trip back outside is a blur. He barely remembers the moment he first left the cell, much less how he got to the grass now being crushed beneath his feet. Numbness is a feeling that is overwhelming as it is emptying, and it is filling every inch of him. Unbeknownst to him, his guide has started talking somewhere between making it out of the entrance and stepping onto the fields.

“-must have been awful. I can’t even begin to tell you how terrible I feel for being the one responsible for it.” He manages to catch the last part. Guilt twists angrily in his gut at the words accompanied with the look on Sam’s face. “It’s fine Sam, you can stop feeling bad.” Tommy brushes it off. “I don’t think I ever will, but it’s too late to change anything now.” Sam says. Tommy can’t do this any longer. His limbs feel heavy and his head hurts and he’s so incredibly tired.

“Did you need me for anything else? I’ve got things to do.” he mumbles, a lot quieter than he would’ve liked. Sam blinks at him. “No, yeah sure. I don’t need you, I just wanted to see how you were doing…” he trails off. “No, I’m just peachy.” The words come out harsher than he had intended, and he regrets speaking the moment they leave his mouth. Sam’s face contorts in a mixture of guilt and badly disguised hurt. “I’m sorry.” It feels bitter and ashen to say. Reminds him too much of too many things. “Sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.” Tommy says.

“It’s okay, I kind of deserve it, don’t I.” Sam brushes it off with a solemn smile that disappears just as quickly as it had appeared. Tommy really can’t do this any longer. He feels like he’s about to pass out. He’s about to bid him adieu and leave already, but Sam speaks again.

“Tommy, I’m so sorry that you had to be in there for so long. It wasn’t safe to let you out yet. I couldn’t figure out what or who had caused the explosions, so the security issue hasn’t been resolved yet, but it’s been a week and I couldn’t possibly keep you in there any longer.”

Tommy doesn’t want to blame him, truly, because he understands. He understands that Sam’s duties as a warden outweigh whatever kinship they’ve built, and gets that it was dangerous and out of his control. That doesn’t soothe the pain though, it still hurts. It feels like a bit of a betrayal, and yet he’s the one who feels guilty. For being an inconvenience. No, he’s not an inconvenience. It wasn’t his fault, it was just circumstance and bad timing. Bad luck too, he supposes.

All of these thoughts are frustrating. He wills himself not to zone out and tune into the conversation. He doesn’t want to worry Sam any further. Christ, his head is all tipsy topsy again. Being stuck with the guy who made him second guess the world around him for so long didn’t help much to shake the feeling. “It’s fine, Samuel. You did what you had to do.” He shrugs like it doesn’t matter to him. It does.

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean it makes me feel any less guilty.” Sam says, a regretful look on his face. He looks sad. It doesn’t suit him. If Sam feels as guilty for locking him up as Tommy does for making him upset, well then that definitely doesn’t help to ease the guilt for either party.

Sam’s expression suddenly breaks as he looks down at him, turning down into a frown. Tommy worries he’s done something wrong, before recognizing the frown came from concern, not from disappointment. Sam opens his mouth, and Tommy has enough clarity to pay attention.

“Tommy, you’re bleeding…” Sam says, reaching out to inspect the wound. Instead, he’s met with a violent flinch as Tommy’s arms shoot up to shield his head. Sam blinks at the display confusedly. “Tommy?” he tries softly, unsure of what is happening. It falls on deaf ears. Instead, the teen in front of him has his shoulders raised tensely in a protective position, his breathing irregular and heavy. Sam fears touching him, afraid he’ll frighten him again, and the thought of doing that scares him. Slowly, he lays his hands atop Tommy’s, who tenses but doesn’t flinch. That’s progress. As gently as he can, he grabs Tommy’s hands and guides them down. His eyes are screwed shut and his shoulders are still raised, but his breathing seems to slowly be steadying.

“Hey, hey it’s okay. Just breathe with me, alright? Five seconds in through the nose, seven seconds out through the mouth.” The words barely register, but the hands holding his ground him enough for him to hear them. He tries to follow along the best he can, breathing a bit too fast or too much at times. Sam just sings his praises, tells him he’s doing well, and if that wasn’t the one thing he years to hear, then he doesn’t know what is.

After a few minutes wherein a young boy regains himself whilst essentially holding hands with the person in front of him, he slowly cracks his eyes open and blinks at the figure currently towering over him. “Sam?” he questions, confusion laced with his words. “Yeah. It’s Sam. Are you back with me?” he asks, smiling gently. Tommy nods slowly, still trying to get his mind sorted.

“Can I look at your head for a second?” This time he keeps his hands to himself. The okay is given with a hesitant nod. He carefully moves Tommy’s golden locks out of the wound, receiving a hiss in reply. “Sorry,” he apologizes quickly, attempting to be more gentle. “Jeez, Tommy, how long ago did this happen?” Tommy would provide him with an answer, if he had one. The days were a blur and time blended together, so he had no possible way of figuring it out. “I don’t know. A while.” he supplies the best answer he can.

The expression on Sam’s face flashes into something unrecognizable for a moment, before the concern returns. “What happened?” he rasps, voice wavering. He sounds like he’s hurting, and god if it doesn’t do something to Tommy. Something pulls at his heartstrings at the sound. He loathes the feeling of overwhelming guilt that all of the recent events have settled like weights down on his shoulders.

Tommy wants to tell him. He so desperately wants to talk about how awful it was, but then he thinks back on how insistent Dream had been about the possibility of him getting out one day. If that hadn’t been the exact thing he had been fearing since the imprisonment, then maybe he wouldn’t still be living in fear of him. He came for closure, and got the exact opposite. If anything, it had only solidified his fears.

He thinks of the aftermath of their fight. The beating, more rather, but they had fought. He thinks about how confused he had been when Dream had kept mostly to himself, aside from offering potatoes he later didn’t have the strength the refuse. He remembers his exhaustion, and how long, no matter how badly, he had slept afterwards.

Once when he woke up, his head was resting on something soft instead of the hard floor he had gotten used and grown accustomed to. Upon opening his eyes and realizing he had been lying on Dream’s lap, he had darted across the room and accidentally banged his head against the wall, reopening the wound that had barely closed in the first place. Dream luckily hadn’t noticed his wincing, just chuckled at his initial reaction. Tommy made sure he didn’t touch it and that Dream couldn’t see it, afraid of being nearly drowned again, and if not that, then whatever awful or abhorrent thing his deranged and disturbing mind could conjure up.

Dream had talked to initiate a conversation a couple handful of times. Mostly the usual, how he was his only friend, how no one cared about him, the usual spiel. Tommy had tuned it out and ignored what he could. Eventually Dream grew bored of getting no responses and eventually gave up. The advice of acting unbothered when a bully nags you apparently really did work. Thank god it did.

The injury had hurt ever since he had gotten it, hindering his ability to do much of anything. It still hurt now, accompanied by a throbbing headache no amount of sleep or rest could solve. Having someone taking care of it probably wouldn’t hurt him. The irony of that is not lost on him.

“Banged my head.” he murmurs after a while. “On accident?” Sam questions, seeing right through him. Tommy draws in a shuddering breath. “No.” he admits. “Did you do it yourself?” It’s relentless, the questioning, but Sam seems like he’s not going to let it go so easily. “…No.” Tommy answers after a while. Sam looks grieved and stricken. “How did- what did he do to you?” Tommy shifts his gaze to the floor, unable to look at the pained expression on Sam’s face any longer.

“I pissed him off. Should’ve kept my mouth shut.” he lamented. “What? No! He should have kept his hands to himself, don’t try to justify his actions!” Sam rages. Tommy cowers at the volume and Sam breathes in deeply to calm himself down. “I’m-“ Tommy gulps. “I’m just recounting. I’m not excusing it. Just stating facts.”

Sam shakes his head, the morose teenager that has endured too much, efforts at recovery rendered nugatory and come up fruitless, stands before him a broken husk. He would burn the world if it meant it would bring a smile to the boy’s face. Contained anger strains him, but he breathes slowly and wills it away. Asking about what happened right now would be pointless, abject horror of the past week still fresh on Tommy’s face and apparent in his dull eyes. To believe that once, what seems like a lifetime ago, he was friends with the very monster directly responsible for the forlorn look currently present on the young boy’s face. The thought fills him with abhorrence and odium. 

“I understand if you don’t want to, but can I hug you? It’s a bit selfish.” he laughs nervously. A hug. The concept feels alien to him at this point. Physical comfort. Reassurance. Companionship. He longs for it so desperately, so he nods. Sam engulfs him with strong arms, keeping him secure in his hold.  
  
It takes everything in his power not to break down and start crying right then and there. He fails spectacularly. Tears spill down his cheeks before he can stop them. Whimpers and hiccups escape his mouth and spill from his lips. Sam hugs him closer, carting a hand through the hairs at the base of his neck. The gesture is calming, soothing, even.

They break apart all too soon, Sam drawing back to look at him with a kind expression and a patient smile. “Would you like to come back with me to my base?” he proposes. Tommy mulls the idea over in his head. Sam’s base is far away, which means it’s farther away from the prison. It’s farther from the Blood Vines as well. Sam is strong and could protect him. Would protect him. He remembers being offered sanctuary there, once, long ago. Then he thinks of the route to his base, straight through the nether. The thought of it alone is still enough to make him uneasy.

“Could we take the long way?” he asks after a while. He’s afraid Sam will ask why, and that he won’t be able to give him an answer, but instead he just looks at him with kind eyes. “Sure. We can take the long way. Getting some movement in wouldn’t be too bad.” he jokes. Tommy cracks a smile and Sam beams at him. “Come on then.” he nudges Tommy and points in what he assumes is the general direction of his base Tommy follows him every step of the way.

It’s so nice, just walking together side by side in comfortable silence. He doesn’t think he’s felt this calm in a long time. The traitorous voice in his brain that had gotten louder during his involuntary stay at what was arguably the world’s shittiest -what was supposed to be a- day trip mutters something. It whispers of similar acts of kindness, also from people he admired, looked up to and trusted in the past.

Resolving to treat it like it was some sort of bully, he makes a conscious effort to ignore it’s heeding and allows himself to bask in the warmth blossoming in his chest from a familiar feeling that had grown foreign to him over the course of his life.

Screw whatever happened in the past, and fuck what happened in there. He will not let it dictate his future any longer. Maybe he can break the cycle after all. 


End file.
